


Nothing left but echoes

by smaragdbird



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, I've made sigrid the future queen of dale because fuck the patriarchy that's why, M/M, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 12:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6374056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragdbird/pseuds/smaragdbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone, even Bard himself, expected that he would die first.</p><p>But he didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing left but echoes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this ](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=25130869#t25130869) prompt

Bard stared numbly into the flames. Despite the fire burning bright and hot he felt cold inside. Next to him Legolas stood with the torch used to light the pyre in his hand, straight and cold and untouchable. Tilda was crying but he couldn’t find the strength to find her and comfort her. 

_Abdicate and come to Mirkwood, Thranduil said, his eyes sparkling._

_Bain isn’t even eighteen yet, Bard argued. He was pleasantly drunk, they both were and there was no levity behind either his or Thranduil’s words._

_But Sigrid is. Make her Queen of Dale and come to live the last hundred years of your life with me._

_A hundred? I’ll be lucky if I live for another thirty years, Bard replied._

_Thranduil shrugged. A hundred or thirty or ten, I don’t care. Just be at my side._

_I will, Bard said. When my children are grown and have families of their own I will come to you._

_Thranduil took Bard’s hand in his and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Drunk or not, King of Dale, I will take this as a promise._

Dain had come as well and a formidable host of dwarven warriors to show his respect for Thranduil. They were dressed in their finest armour and wore braids that signified the high esteem they had held Thranduil in.

_You and Dain enjoy these negotiations too much, Bard accused Thranduil as they left to retire for the night._

_Why, King Bard, do you not enjoy yourself? Thranduil asked with sparkling eyes over a barely concealed grin._

_Not as much as you two do, Bard replied._

_Of course I do, Thranduil had admitted with a grin. Dain is so much more amusing than Thorin. In over six thousand years no one else has ever insulted me as a cracked walnut. Such creativity deserves recognition._

_I suppose it’s good to know you can still be surprised, Bard commented. He never tried to think too hard about the fact that Thranduil was older than even the oldest buildings in this part of the world. Contemplating it for too long only led to headaches._

_You surprised me, Thranduil said and pulled Bard close to kiss him._

_Smooth, Bard replied dryly but still let himself be pulled onto Thranduil’s lap._

In contrast to the dwarves, the elves wore their hair and clothes unadorned and simple with the exception of Thranduil. He had been dressed in his armour with his swords by his side and a silver circlet instead of a crown on his head. The defender of the woodland realm to his last breath that was how his people wanted to remember him and Bard couldn’t argue against it.

_Bard had noticed early on that Thranduil moved more and quicker than any other swordsman he had never seen. At first he had attributed it to him being an elf but observing his soldiers during their training had corrected him on that._

_Why did you stop using a shield? Bard asked him one day. He had seen the tell tale marks on Thranduil’s left arm that spoke of shield straps._

_Over reliance, Thranduil replied, twirling his swords. He was naked from the waist upwards and Bard could see the scars accumulated by fighting war after war. Two marks stood out, still angry and red, as being recent, too fresh to be from the battle of the five armies. One looked like a bite mark from a spider, the other one like a serrated blade, an orc blade doubtlessly._

_When Bard seemed surprised, Thranduil explained, I’m blind on one eye. Keeping in motion allows me to make up for that instead of relying on a shield to keep me safe when I cannot see an attacker coming._

_I didn’t mean to pry, I’m sorry, Bard said._

_Thranduil shook his head. You have nothing to be sorry for. Now tell me how good is your swordsmanship?_

_Dreadful, Bard replied, seeing where this was going. Give me a bow any time._

_Thranduil sighed. Perhaps I should ask Dain to spar with me._

_So you can insult each other while wielding weapons? You don’t see how this is a bad idea? Bard asked._

_Thranduil laughed. Good advice, we’ll make a king out of you yet._

_Over my dead body, Bard deadpanned._

_I’ll go and ask your daughter then if she’s more susceptible to the idea of being queen, Thranduil replied a smile playing around his lips._

The people of Laketown and Dale wore black and no jewellery or armour, although those who were soldiers had come in their uniforms like Bain. Sigrid stood next to Legolas, a sharp contrast in her dark dress to his white clothes and her pinned up hair next to his open one. But they wore the same stony expression, had the same dry but red-rimmed eyes.

_Why should I listen to a little girl that has never used a sword or killed an orc? Thranduil’s voice was uncharacteristically icy for speaking with Sigrid and Bard raised his eyebrows._

_I’m the future Queen of Dale and –_

_Thranduil interrupted her with a patronising laugh. Not good enough._

_The river flows east, not west, and –_

_But he interrupted her again. That is the best you can do? He asked with disbelief. We are finished here. He turned away from her. That is why women shouldn’t rule._

_Sigrid’s fist hit the table. You will listen to me or spent the winter sitting on a surplus of weapons and gemstones without a single fish to eat and without a single grain to brew your beer from. Do you understand me?_

_For a moment Bard could see a proud smile on Thranduil’s face before he reined it in and turned back towards Sigrid. Better, he said. Remember, dwarves respect strength, violence and the occasional threat. They are simple people._

_And here I hoped they’d see reason, Sigrid said. She noticed Bard standing in the doorway. How do you do this every single year, dad?_

_Bard wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to press a kiss in her hair. I let Thranduil wear him down first, he said._

_Sigrid gave them both sceptical looks. Every year, honestly?_

_Thranduil nodded. Your father has, time and again, accused me of enjoying these negotiations with Dain way too much._

_It’s not much of an accusation when it’s true, is it? Bard asked._

_Sigrid shook her head and said, more to herself than to them, no, I’ll have to do this on my own._

Bain stood amongst his men. He stood taller and broader than his father in the green and blue of Dale’s guard. He was not captain, not yet, but few doubted that he would be soon enough. His eyes were red rimmed but he wasn’t crying anymore.

_Truly? How big was it? The excitement in Bain’s voice easily carried through the makeshift door. Like most repairs in Dale, fixing the door had focused on making it tight against the wind and the cold instead of making it thick or restoring its design._

_Twelve feet at least with a whip made of fire and magic in each hand and clouds of ash spreading like wings in its back, blocking out the sun. To his surprise it was Thranduil’s voice Bard heard._

_When he opened the door, he found his son and the Elvenking sitting in front of the fireplace. Tilda and Sigrid were nowhere to be seen but that was not surprising, it was late and the days were busy and filled with hard work to prepare for the quickly advancing winter._

_Father, did you know the king has seen balrogs? Bain asked the moment he noticed his father’s homecoming._

_I do now, Bard replied. Shouldn’t you be in bed?_

_But – Bain began to protest._

_Bed, now, Bard told him._

_I’ll be happy to finish the story another time, Thranduil said. For a moment Bard was taken aback by just how beautiful Thranduil was. It was something he knew but that managed to surprise every single time they met anyway. As if Thranduil’s beauty was too great to be accurately contained by Bard’s memory._

_That seemed to mollify Bain enough that he willingly left for bed with a few parting words for Thranduil and Bard._

_I apologise I forgot we were supposed to meet, Bard said as soon as his son had left._

_You have nothing to apologise for. I simply came by to see how you were doing, Thranduil replied._

_You don’t have to do that, Bard said._

_I know, Thranduil replied. I wanted to._

_Bard didn’t know what to say to that, so instead he asked, I hope Bain didn’t ask too many questions._

_I quite enjoyed telling my war stories to someone who hasn’t heard them before, Thranduil answered. Get some rest, Bard, you look like you need it. I will see you tomorrow._

Tilda had arranged flowers around Thranduil’s body. Some of them from the shores of the lake, some from the heathers around Dale, some from the forest and a few, pressed and dried, from lands far to the east and the west. They framed Thranduil like his crown had done once and gave the fire a strangely pleasant smell, speaking of happier times.

_I made one for you as well, Tilda said and held the flower crown out to her brother._

_Boys don’t wear flowers, he replied disdainfully._

_Thranduil does, she pouted._

_Then maybe you should give it to him, he said._

_Bard hadn’t thought she’d actually do it but one day Thranduil came to the negotiations with Dain with a flower crown instead of his usual silver circlet. Windflower and liverwort and primrose woven around his head._

_When he noticed Bard staring Thranduil smiled and said, Your daughter is quite talented. This is much more comfortable than what I usually wear._

_I...I apologise, Bard stammered._

_There’s no need for that. She should make one for you as well. We’d match. What better way to show our unity against Dain._

_Despite being sure that Thranduil had no second thoughts, Bard felt himself blush._

Legolas approached him afterwards. The ashes were still smoking but most of the crowd had dispersed. Life went on whether Bard liked it or not.

“I’m sorry for your loss”, Legolas said.

“He was your father”, Bard replied with surprise. “I should say that to you.”

“He is my father”, Legolas corrected him. “And I will see him and my mother again one day. But you won’t and I’m sorry for that. I cannot imagine how it must feel.”

It felt as if they had been robbed of what little time they should have had together but Bard couldn’t say that.

“If there is anything I can do to help you or your family, let me know. I will return to Mirkwood for the time being, but do not hesitate to write to me.”

Bard nodded. “Thank you.”

“And my father’s offer to come and live in Mirkwood is still open”, Legolas added.

“Without your father, there is nothing for me there.”

After a moment, Legolas said, “I understand. And once more I am sorry.”

“So am I.”

They parted ways. A war was coming. The days of loss and sorrow weren’t over yet and wouldn’t be for a long time to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me [ here](http://smaragdbird.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


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